


Retrograde

by achievement_huntresss



Category: Everyman HYBRID, MLAndersen0, Slenderblogs
Genre: Amnesia, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Habit and Patrick have a love-hate relationship, Hospitalization, Inhabited Stephanie, Iteration Theory, Medical Inaccuracies, Mostly Hate, Psychological Trauma, Therapy, based on an rp, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:39:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievement_huntresss/pseuds/achievement_huntresss
Summary: (Based on a silly RP idea that quickly got out of hand. Lou requested I write a fic and post it, so here it is.)Two amnesiacs meet in a psychiatric hospital. They quickly become friends, regardless of what the voices in their heads say about the matter.





	Retrograde

**Author's Note:**

> Lou and I were pitching RP ideas to each other a few days ago and the idea of "What if because Steph wasn't in the last EMH video, she's already in the next iteration and HABIT has decided to make her life hell this time?" Then we kept going back and forth with the idea until we decided we should bring our very good, best boy Michael Andersen into the picture. This fic is based on that RP.
> 
> (Also, I know this is unrealistic to how mental institutions work, this is more or less based on my personal experiences, a few friends's experiences, all of which are, of course, heavily embellished to fit the plot of this fic.)
> 
> Enjoy!!

Michael awoke with a start, clutching at his face. His nose was bleeding and he was in an unfamiliar room. The more the fog of sleep cleared from his mind however, he realized that he was in a hospital room and the orderlie had knocked on his door to wake him up for his medication. The orderlie stood at the foot of his bed, and handed him a tissue, which Michael gratefully took and cleaned his face up with. After he'd finished, the man handed him a cup of water and a dixie cup of his pills, which he swallowed down with a grimace. With no words, the man nodded to the paper schedule Michael'd been given the night before.

 

Michael sat up and turned, setting his feel flat on the cold tile floor. He shivered and set the cup of water on the bedside table and grabbed the schedule. _Today was... Tuesday?_ he thought, scanning the page. Apparently there was breakfast in the common room, then group therapy. Afterwards, a few hours of free time until lunch. Michael grimaced, running the events of the day before over in his head as he stood to get dressed. 

 

_He'd started the day wandering the streets of some unknown city until someone had called the police on him. The police had taken him in, and a psychologist they'd called in determined he had amnesia. All he'd known was that his name was Michael Andersen and that he needed help. The psychologist and a friendly police officer had helped him check into Mercy Hospital's mental ward, where the nurses had barely looked at him as they checked him in, and the patients all looked thin and exhausted._

 

_Great_ , he had thought. _Exactly what I need._

 

Now back in the present, Michael finished pulling the plain gray t-shirt over his head. He sighed at the too-short scrub pants they'd given him, but he doubted they'd give him ones that would fit his long legs. He leaned down to pull his (thankfully) soft hospital socks up higher. A glance in the shatter-proof mirror on the wall by the door showed the absolute rats nest his hair had become, so he tried brushing his fingers through it to try and tame it. His hair now looking slightly more presentable, he opened his door and nearly crashed into another orderlie, who was probably on her way to make sure he was getting ready. The two of them walked in silence down the hallway, and took a turn down another hallway until they reached the main room. A few folding tables had been set up and a few people were sitting scattered at each, eating from paper plates while a few stragglers were getting their food from the man at the back of the room. 

 

Michael kept his head down and quickly walked across the room to the line of two people. When it was his turn, the man handed him a paper plate with a piece of toast and a small portion of scrambled eggs. At the end of the counter, there were two pitchers, one of milk and one of orange juice. Michael opted for the orange juice, pouring himself a glass. He grabbed a silverware packet and turned to observe the room.

 

There were nine people scattered across the room, all seeming to be about Michael's age. Not that he was really sure how old he was, but he assumed young- to mid-twenties. The youngest person there seemed to be about 16 and she was sitting off by herself. No one was really talking or even looking at each other. It seemed more like a prison than a hospital in Michael's opinion. He briefly wondered if he'd seen either and then shook his head to clear the thought. 

 

Michael sat down at a table closer to the couches, bookshelf, and TV. There were two people at the table, a man, who was drawing on his napkin with a crayon and a young woman with long brown hair. She glanced up at him when he sat down, and he offered her a smile which she returned, albeit a small one. She want back to her book, and he started eating. The three of them sat in silence for a while until the man finished his drawing and looked at Michael. 

 

"What do you think?" The man asked, lifting his napkin for Michael to see. It was a crude drawing of a tree, but pretty good given the lack of art supplies.

 

Michael nodded. "Pretty good. It'd be cool to see what you could do with pencils."

 

The man laughed. "I like you already man. I'm Danny." He offered his hand across the table, which Michael shook.

 

"Michael."

 

"What's your story, Michael?"

 

Michael laughed and shook his head. "If I remember, you'll be the first to know."

 

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Another amnesiac?" He turned to the young woman sitting next to him. "Stephanie, you and the new guy have something in common!"

 

The woman - Stephanie - rolled her eyes and didn't look up from her book. "Y'know Danny one of these days you're gonna ask the wrong person the wrong thing and get socked in the eye."

 

"Hasn't happened yet, Steph!" Danny grinned and Stephanie snorted. "Hey, I think I've got a pretty good streak going."

 

"Maybe I should punch you, just to make you learn your lesson about staying out of other people's business."

 

Michael watched this exchange while he ate, thoroughly amused. Their dynamic reminded him of someone but he couldn't think of who. Danny looked over at him and caught him smiling. "See Steph? New guy thinks it's funny!"

 

"Well, he has amnesia. He probably hit his head really hard and thinks everything is funny." Stephanie leaned over and put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, barely containing her laughter. "You don't have to pretend to find Dan funny. He doesn't deserve the sympathy laughs."

 

Michael tries to stay serious and nod, but breaks and starts laughing. Stephanie joins in and Dan grins at them both.

 

"See, y'all are already getting along! My job here is done." He leans back and smirks at them both. Stephanie rolls her eyes again, and goes back to her book. Michael goes back to eating, and they sit in silence again.

\----

 The tables are cleared and pushed to the edges of the main room. Everyone picks up their chairs and moves them into a circle. Michael sets his next to Stephanie's and another young woman who barely looks at him when he sits down. A woman walks into the room and sits in one of the empty chairs and smiles warmly at everyone, but the smile doesn't quite reach her cold blue eyes.

 

"Good morning, everyone!" She chirps. "I see we have a new friend joining us today." She nods at Michael, who tries to smile back at her.

 

"My name is Dr. Mink. I'm one of the psychiatrists at Mercy. I'm not the residential psychiatrist, so you'll only really see me during group sessions." Michael nods and she smiles at him again. Dr. Mink reminds him of those kindergarten teachers who never really wanted to work with kids and had this fake warmth about them. Like smiling even though you really don't care about what they're saying.

 

Michael's smile drops and he averts his eyes. He feels like glaring at the woman, but doesn't want to cause trouble. With the introduction out of the way. Dr. Mink continues on.

 

"Now today we're going to continue where we left off last Thursday with talking about our dreams. Who would like to start?" No one volunteered. Everyone averted their eyes like Michael had. It vaguely reminded him of high school when teachers would ask a question no one knew the answer to.

 

"Stephanie?" Steph flinched in the seat next to him. She sits up a little straighter. "If I remember correctly, you weren't able to share your dream last week? We ran out of time, I believe."

 

Stephanie coughs and adjusts her glasses, looking down at the floor. "Yeah. Um, I don't usually remember my dreams. I wake up so often that it's like I don't hit the uh, -RAM, RAM cycle?"

 

"REM?" Michael asks, before he can stop himself. Stephanie looks a bit surprised, then recovers. 

 

"Yeah, REM. But I, uh kind of remember a dream I had a few days ago?" She swallows and starts picking at her fingernails. "And one last night," she says quietly, barely above a whisper.

 

Dr. Mink nods. "Tell us what you can remember, Stephanie."

 

Stephanie swallows again, not looking up from her fingernails. "The one- one from the other day was... um. It was nice. I was in a field. Blue skies. Really nice day. I was with my grandmother. She's uh, she's dead. But we were having a picnic. I guess it was a good one? I don't - don't really like that grandmother, but it was still a nice day."

 

Dr. Mink smiles and nods, and Michael notices that the box he'd thought was a box of cigarettes in her pocket is actually a small recorder. He frowns. Thankfully, no one notices his odd behavior and Dr. Mink motions to Stephanie to continue.

 

"Oh, um... That's all I remember," she says sheepishly. Stephanie pushes the hair out of her face and looks up at Dr. Mink.

 

The blonde doctor hums. "You mentioned last night, right? What do you remember from your dream?"

 

Stephanie hesitates. "I, well... I don't remember all of it, just pieces. It was like-" she frowns. "-Children. I was in the middle of this- this town and they were everywhere, having fun, doing kid things. And then they just... They just started disappearing."

 

Michael shifts in his chair, a feeling like ice suddenly moving slowly through his veins. 

 

Stephanie continues. "-I'd look around and there were less around me and um- until there was like, none. And then I just heard them all screaming. And screaming." She takes a shaky breath, hands twitching in her lap. Michael realizes she's about to cry. "It was like all of 'em, just screaming at once. And uh, the next time I like turned around, looking, I was - I was in the middle of the woods and I could hear them so much  _louder_ and  _everywhere._ It was- It sounded like they were coming from the trees."

 

Dr. Mink begins to speak, but Stephanie is almost in a trance, recounting the awful dream while tears stream down her face. "And there were these... bags..." her voice fades and everyone sits in silence. Michael notices a box of tissues on the shelf behind him, so he grabs it and hands it to Stephanie. She shakes herself out of her trance, and thanks him quietly, cleaning her face.

 

"Thank you for sharing, Stephanie." Dr. Mink's voice is still as cheerful as ever, but there's an edge to it. Her smile seems even more forced than before. Stephanie curls back into herself on her chair and avoids any eye contact at all. Dr. Mink clears her throat and turns her attention to Michael.

 

"Michael Andersen, right?" He nods. "Why don't you tell us about _your_ dreams?"

 

"Oh, uh... I don't usually remember my dreams either." Michael runs his thumb over his fingers hoping to quell his anxiety. Dr. Mink raises an eyebrow and a flash of anger strikes through him like a lightning bolt. Before he can lose his temper at her though, he clenches his fists and tries talking.

 

"I guess... I guess I dreamed last night?" Michael clears his throat. "I was a little kid and I was in the woods-" he coughs, trying to ignore the similarities between his dream and Stephanie's,"-and it was like something was watching me. It was snowing and- and I was lost? Then in the woods there was this like... huge grandfather clock." He coughs again, much more violently this time.

 

Once the coughing passes, he looks up at Dr. Mink. "That's uh... that's all I can remember."

 

Dr. Mink nods once. "Thank you for sharing, Michael." She claps her hands, startling everyone. "Now then! Onto our next activity!"

\----

After group ends and Dr. Mink leaves, furiously scribbling notes onto a pad of paper she'd produced from her bag, Michael and another kid named Frankie have been voluntold to clean up the chairs. Everyone else goes back to their rooms until lunchtime. Michael is setting two chairs back at a table when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns and sees Stephanie.

 

She hands him the tissue box he'd passed to her during group. "Thanks," she says quietly.

 

Michael takes it. "You're welcome. I mean, it's not really a big deal-"

 

"No it, uh... it meant a lot more than you realize." She flushes pink, and quickly leaves the room. Michael watches her go, mouth slightly agape. He's not sure about her. He likes her just fine, since she was one of the few people who actually talked to him. But something deep in his brain was telling him not to go anywhere near her again.

 

"Hey-" Another hand on his shoulder, this time from Frankie. He's looking at Michael kind of worried. "Look, I think it's great that you want to make friends with people and be nice but-" Michael must've scowled at the guy, because he backs up a bit with his hands up like a surrender.

 

Frankie clears his throat. "Look, that girl... she isn't someone you want to be friends with. We keep telling Danny to stop talking to her but he doesn't listen."

 

"Why shouldn't I talk to her? Or even interact with her?"

 

"Don't you know what she did?"

 

Michael looks at him bewildered. "No?" He points to his head. "Amnesia, remember?"

 

Frankie nods. "Right, sorry." He clears his throat and steps closer. "Look, the only reason she's here is because they can't throw her in jail yet."

 

" _Jail?_ "

 

Frankie nods. "Yeah. We all heard the nurses talking about her before she came. Apparently her whole family was murdered and her house burned down. But since she has 'amnesia'," he makes air quotes with his fingers, "the cops can't like, arrest her yet. But she's like mad unstable. You can hear her screaming at night. It's kind of terrifying."

 

Michael's head is spinning. He's not sure how to reply, but then Frankie pushes the last chair back to place and claps him on the shoulder. "Look, you don't have to follow my advice, but- and I say this in the most literal sense- it's your funeral, dude." Frankie leaves the room, leaving just Michael standing in the middle of the room.

 

Alone with his thoughts.


End file.
